If7' 

ilk 



I A w 





ISS 1861. 






^:-V-^^=^y 







»-d-<' .. ; i_ 



DI AG ON AS RATA NIK AS. 



KENYON COLLEGE. 



<f;fe "2- 



^Twentieth i ABBiYBf^sARYJ* 



OF THE 



OL-A-SS Olf" 1802. 



Ur8HVJLLK, INL).: 

IIEITBLICAN BOOK AXlJ JOli OFKICK. 






\ s 



J ' 






KENYON#0OLLEGB: 

GAMBIER, OHIO. 



Pursuant to an adjournineiu of tlie Class of '62, June 28, 1872, 
the Class gathered in the first room to the right, of the first floor of 
the east wing of the old college, on the evening of June 28th, 1882, 
to celebrate the Twentieth Anniversary of graduation. The 
Ohio boys, headed by Blake, four months before, had issued the 
following circular, which was sent to everv man whose wheicabouts 
could be ascertained : 

Cincinnati, (_)., April 20th. 1882, 
Dear Ci.assmatk : 

The (^hii) members of the Class of "'62", in Old Kenyon, 
have formed themselves into a committee to arrange for a reunion, 
to be held in Gambler, June 28th — that being the twentieth anni- 
versary of our graduation. It is hoped you will be able to attend. 
Surely it is worth an effort to look into each others faces once again, 
and to revive the memories of Auld I.ang Syne. Come if you can ; 
if vou cannot, send your photograph and some account of yourself 
and your surroundings. We shall publish the proceedings of the 
meeting and such letters as we may receive, feeling confident that 
each surviving member of the old class will be delighted to have 
such a memento. Fraternally yours, 

Badger, Blake, Crowei.i., Curtis, Kilbotkne, King. 

In answer to this invitation, the following members of the class 
were present: Badger, Blake, Cole, Dotv, l)unham, [anies Kil- 
bourne, King. Napier, Postlethwaite and Wright, it is ab.solutely 
impossible to give more than a glimpse of thai meeting — so hearty 
were the hand shaking.s, so sympathetic were the voices of greeting, 
so full were the peals of laughter as thev resounded through the 
old college halls. We, who were there, can understand it to the 
full, and it wjll linger in the memory as one of the most pleasant 
reunions it has ever been our lot to enjoy. 



— 4 — 

As will be seen by the following record, this meeting ha'd about 
as little formality as any meeting in our history. 

Upon entering the dark and cheerless room of the east wing 
that night, we were strongly reminded of certain strange initiations 
which all of us had experienced in our college course, and we ex- 
pected from the deeper darkness of the closet, that some rattling 
skeleton might make its appearance and extract from us certain iron 
clad oaths which would make us shiver from head to foot. All the 
old feelings of college boys were thoroughly roused, and in the 
spirit sometimes manifested by untlerclassmen, we each liegan a tour 
through the wing, determined to confiscate all such jM-operty in the 
way of chairs, tables and lamps upon which we could lay our hands. 
A few moments found us fairly settled, surrounding an old historic 
college table, decorated with a coal oil lamp in the centre. 

Fred. Blake called the Class to order. On motion, Postleth- 
waite was unanimously chosen' chairman, Doty secretary, and Blake 
corresponding secrefary. By a vote of the Class, Doty was thanked 
for the pamphlet published ten years ago. The minutes being 
called for, the secretary produced the veritable secretary's book, be- 
grimmed with age, which had upon its yellow pages the record of the 
meetings of the Freshman and Sophomore years. Tliese minutes 
were read with great difficulty, for the side remarks of all present 
drew forth shouts of laughter. After the minutes were read, thev 
were all again adopted by a ringing vote. 

Then letters from the absent members of the Class were called 
for, and Blake, who had been the active member of the committee, 
brought out the file and read them. We here print the account of 
the Class as it has come to us, verbally and in writing: 

I.— The Rev. AI.EXANDFK VIETS GRISWOLD ALI.KX, 
A. M., D. D., Pr(jfessor of Ecclesiastical Mistorv, in Episco- 
pal Theological School at Canil)ridge, Mass. 

Camhiuugk, Mass., October loth, 1S82. 
Mv DiC.AU Itl.AKi:: 

I shall always regret that I could not . be jiresent at the class- 
reunion last June. Postlethwaite wrote me an account of it, which 
made me realize a sense of loss in having missed the opporl unity of 
taking the hands and looking in the faces of the fellows, most of 
whom I have not seen for twenty \ears. 



We are all of us now in the full swing of life, bearing the 
/ burden and the heat of the day. What Ave are now, and are doing 
now, is what we were looking forward to then, as among the 
uncertainties which the future had in store for us. Then we were 
young men of promise. Now we have fulfilled the promise. We 
have solved the problem as to what we should turn out. We have 
the reality in place of the anticipation. Such, 1 suppose, is about 
the feeling one ought to have on reaching the twentieth anniversary of 
one's graduation. And yet, somehow, I don't feel as old as I did at 
twenty-one, when I had become a senior in Kenyon College. 

1 have been trying to think what I should have said for myself, 
if I had been with you. How the years condense themselves as one 
reviews them. After all my thinking, I can say but little for my- 
self. As to external facts : I am married and have two children — 
Henry Van Dyke and John Stone, the one nine and the other 
seven. I live in Cambridge, where I have been for fifteen years, 
as Professor of Church History, in the Episcopal Theological 
School. 

My life has not been an eventful one. So far as outward inci- 
dents go, I have been pursuing the even tenor of my way. But the 
twenty years have not been idle ones with me, and as I review my 
mental history, they have brought me great changes in thought and 
experience. It is one of the compensations for the flight of time, 
that it brings maturity to the judgment, and widens the horizon of 
the mental vision. And in this maturity of one's powers, in being 
able to see things more clearly than I once did, I find a certain 
satisfaction and sense of repose, which I value as among the solid 
gains of life. 

I became convinced before I left college, that the world of 
religious thought was undergoing a mighty transition. I did not 
fully understand the nature of it then; I thought I had glimpses of a 
future, which were right, as far as they went. During these twenty 
years, I have kept my eyes fixed upon the causes which were effect- 
ing the change, and the results they were tending to produce. I 
have lately written two articles for the Princeton Rndew, which sum 
up the conclusions I have reached. I only allude to them here, be- 
cause I am writing of myself, and because they will show where I 
stand in the confused condition of religious thought at the present 



— 6 — 

time. I w-ill gladly send them to any of the fellows, who wonld 
like to glance over them. 

I feel thankful that these twenty years have brought me a deeper 
faith and have gradually freed me from the skepticisms through 
which every man, who thinks for himself, must pass. 

I wish I had more of a contribution to the Class Memorial than 
this feeble sketch. I look forward to its publication with the great- 
est interest, and I am, my dear Blake, 

Fraternally Yours, 
Rev. A. F. Blake, A. V. G. ALI.EN. 

Secretary of the Class of 1862'. 

2.— The Rev. HENRY LEONARD BADGER, A. M., Rector of 
All Saints' Church, Portsmouth, Southern Ohio. 
Since the last pamphlet, Badger has clianged his base and come 
back into the pale of civilization. Twenty years have left but a slight 
imprint upon his college face. He is married, and is the father of 
two girls and one boy ; only one little daughter is left to him, an- 
other, and his boy, have been taken away by death. 

At the last meeting of the Alumni, Badger was elected a trustee 
of Kenyon College. 

■ ■■■iHBimBBaBszs:!i^BBiBiaa9i 
EDWARD BATES. 



Died in our Sophomore year. 



4.— The Rev. ALFRED FARNSWORTH BLAKE, A. M., Rec- 
tor of Grace Church, Avondale, Southern Ohio. 

Fred, remains with his first love at Avondale (Cincinnati), Ohio. 
The Class, at this reunion, had the pleasure of meeting his wife and 
little daughter. His record is three children — two boys and one 
girl — all living. 

Blake has been a trustee of Kenyon College for a number of 
years. 

5. —JOHN THOMAS BOND. 

St. Leonard's, Calvert Co., Md., April 27th, 1882. 
Rev. a. F. Blake : 

Dear FHend and Classfiiate — I have just received your kind in- 
vitation to be present at a reunion of our Class. Nothing would 



give me greater pleasure than to meet once more with the friends of 
my boyhood days ; to look them in the face and shake them by the 
hanil. Though twenty years or more have passed away since we 
were a happy class at old Kenyon, I oft^n think of many of my old 
classmates, and only with pleasant remembrances. 

1 very seldom ever see or hear from any. I had a very pleasant 
visit, about a year ago, from Swan (one of our Class), and we en- 
joyed ourselves talking over the days we spent at old Kenyon, of the 
time when the president's horse was so badly treated by some of the 
boys, &c., &c. Since then, oh! how many changes! We have 
grown to be men, scattered over every part of the land, and engaged 
in every avocation of life. Many, many, I fear, of our little band 
have reached their journey's end on earth, and required to render 
that account, which sooner or later, must be rendered by each one 
of us. At the last day, when all of us shall be gathered in, may we 
have a "re-union" as lasting as eternity and as happy as heaven can 
make it. 

I shall strive, if possible, to be with you all, but if I should not, 
I want you to give me a full account of the "re-union," and say to 
those of our old Class who shall be there, that if there are any among 
them who remember me and care enough for me to write to me, that 
1 shall be glad to hear from them, to know where they are living 
and what they are doing. You ask me to "give an account of my- 
self and my surroundings." Well, nearly twenty years ago I was 
married. My wife and two children are my nearest and dearest 
"surroundings." I have a daughter nearly eighteen, and a son fifteen 
years of age. During the late war, or "late unpleasantness," as it 
is sometimes called, I was with "Stonewall Jackson" most of the 
time. Returning home, I settled down to family life on St. Leon- 
ard's Creek, a branch of the Patuxent River, and with the excep- 
tion of having taken some part in the politics of my State, I have 
had a very quiet life. In l868 I was elected as judge of the 
Orphans' Court ; in '71 to the House of Delegates and in '79 I was 
elected State senator. I was also elected as one of the State delegates 
to the Cincinnati convention that nominated Gen. Hancock as the 
Democratic candidate for President, and if I had known you were 
living in Cincinnati I should have tried very hard to have found you. 

I have been away from home for the past three months or more, 
in Annapolis, attending a meeting of the legislature of the State, 



and find my presence very much needed at home at this time. If I 
can so arrange matters, as I hope to do, I shall try to make it a point 
to be with you all once more. In the meantime, write to me, and 
let me know if you have a family. Where is Badger? Give me all 
the news you know will be interesting to an old friend. Where is 
your cousin, Miss Blake, of Mass.? You know I used to think I 
could hardly live without her. I have heard that Badger married 
another old love of mine — Miss Brooks, of Gambler. I was con- 
stantly in love with some dear girl — it only shows I had a tender 
heart. 

With best wishes for your happiness and prosperity. 
Your friend, 

JOHN THOMAS BOND. 

6.— JOHN JAMES BOND. 
Not heard from. 

7.— HENRY MARTYN BRONSON. 

Not heard from. 

8.— The Rev. JAMES ALEXANDER BROWN, A. M. 

We have had no tidings from Brown, except that after leaving 
Cayuga, N. Y., he went to Waverly, N. Y., where he remained a 
few years and was very successful in the work of his ministry. From 
there he moved to Avon Springs (N. V.), where he remained rector 
of Zion Church for nearly two years. Owing to the advanced age 
and consequent growing feebleness of his father, he went home and 
became the rector of St.Thomas Church, Verona, Diocese of Pittsburg, 
where he now is. Our last accounts give his family a wife and little 
daughter. 

9.— Capt. ULYSSES DAVID COLE, A. M. 

Cole was two years in the war, entering in 1862, upon graduat- 
ing, passing a year, and again a year at the close of the war. He 
entered as a private in the 86th and 174th O. V. I. He is now a 
lawyer and editor of the Reptihlican, established as the Whig in 
1840, at Rushville, Indiana. To him the Class is greatly indebted 
for the gratuitous printing of this memorial book. 

Cole was a member of the Indiana legislature in 1877, has been 
twice married, has two children, boy and girl — the latter survives 
the former. Cole has been prosperous in his business. 



io.— FRANK CUNNINGHAM CRAVVFOKD. 
Not heard from. Lives in Terra Haute, Ind. 

n.— JOHN CROVVELL. 

Cleveland, Ohio, May 9th, 1882. 

My Dear Friend and Classmaie : 

I found your communication of the 20th ult. upon my return 

from Washington, last , Saturday. I am very glad you have taken 

this matter of our class re-union in hand, and have no doubt it will 

be eminently successful. Nothing would give me more pleasure than 

to be present upon the occasion named, and I shall certainly be there 

if it is possible. I am away from home about half of the time, 

taking testimony, &c., &c., in patent causes, and it is impossible for 

me to say — so far ahead — ^just where I may be on the day named. 

But if it is among the possibilities I shall be at Gambler.- Whenever 

you come this way don't fail to call and see me. It would give me 

great pleasure to have you, or any of my old classmates stretch their 

legs under my dining table, and meet my wife and five chickens 

seated there at. 

Very truly yours, 

JOHNCROWELL, Jr., 

City Hall, Cleveland, Ohio. 

P. S. Should be glad to hear from you at any time. 

The following despatch ^\■as received to the great regret of all 
present : 

Cleveland, O., June 27, 1882. 
To Rev. A. F. Blake, Gambler, Ohio. 

Until to-night had expected to be with you to-morrow. On ac- 
count of business engagements it is impossible. Please present my 
regards and assurances of affection to all members present. 

JOHN CROWELL. 

12.— HENRY LAMBTON CURTIS, A. M. 

While Curtis did not put in an appearance at the meeting of 
the Class, he was at the commencement exercises on the following 
day, and regretted that he could not accept Mrs. Blake's warm in- 
vitation to dine with the Class. He had with him his father, whom 
we all remember so well, and two beautiful little girls who called 
Curtis papa. But alas I an elegant memorial volume lies before the 



secretary at the moment of writing, whicli gives an account of tlie 
life and death of his greatly beloved wife. 

After reaching home T wrote Curtis for any records of the Class, 
particularly of the rebellion, which he might have in his possession, 
and which would be of interest were they embodied in this vol- 
ume. The following letter is in answer to the secretary : 

You speali of the historical record you wish to get up, and ask 
me for any items of interest 1 may have written down or preserved, 
relating to our Class. I kept a kind of a diary during our freshman 
year, but did not continue it further. The "great rebellion" took 
place in our sophomore year, so I have no account of it. When I 
spoke to you at Gambler, I thought I had, but come to hunt up my 
old journal I discover it only covers the freshman year, and is mostly 
of a private character. You remember there was not much of in- 
terest occurred in that year. The remarkable freaks and characteris- 
tics of the class began to develop themselves in our sophomore year. 
I think there is nothing in my journal, covering the ground it 
does, that would be of any use to you. The Class list and its divi- 
.sion, &c., of course you have. The Class entered 45, and in a few 
weeks increased by the admission of a few others. Grannis entered 
the Class Nov. 11, 185S, but of course many dropped out during 
the year. 

Thanking you, my dear Doty, for your kind remembrance, and 
hoping I may see you again in many years, 

I remain your friend truly, 

HENRY L. CURTIS. 

13.— The Rev. JOHN ANDREW DOORIS, A. M., 

Has a wife, one daughter, and three sons. The following pos- 
tal card is all we have heard from him personally : 

814 Divi.sioN St., EvANSViLLE, Ind., May 5, 1882. 
Dear Classmates : 

Your favor with the names of several of the old Class of '62, 
was forwarded and received. If I can see my way clear to be pres- 
ent at the time mentioned, will gladly do so. Hope that a large 
number will be present and a good time enjoyed by all. 
With the regards of "Auld Lang Syne," 

Yours, etc., 

JNO. A. DOORIS. 



After leaving Rouseville, Pa., he became Missionary at Ovid, 
Seneca county, New York, and while there, was also a most success- 
ful chaplain of Willard Asylum for the Insane. From here he 
went to Westfield, New York, and became the Rector of St. Peter's 
Church. Here, he built a commodious rectory and greatly im- 
proved the church property ; but shortly, Logansport, Ind., claimed 
him, and after a good record there, he became Rector of the Church 
of the Holy Innocents, Evansville, Ind., where he now is. 

14.— The Rev. WILLI \M D'ORVILLE DOTY, A. M., 

Has a wife and six children — three boys and three girls — two 
of the boys have entered into life eternal. 

Our last publication found him Rector of Paul's Church, Water- 
loo, New York, where he remained nearly seven years, during a 
year of which time he was a successor to John A. Dooris as, Chaplain 
of Willard Asylum, which, with an assistant minister, he carried on 
besides two Missionary stations, as well as the Parish Church at Wa- 
terloo. Four years and a half ago, he was called to be the Rector of 
Christ Church, Rochester, New York, where he now resides. His 
latch string is always out to any member of "ye Class." 

,5. —The Rev. SOLOMON FRANK DUNHAM, A. M., 

Is Rector of St. Stephen's Church, Terre Haute, Ind., is a 
Trustee of Kenyon College from the Diocese of Indiana, "is single," 
and says he is "happy." He probably is as happy as an unmarried 
man can be, 

16.— GEORGE ERNST. A. B. 
Nothing heard from him. 



,7._| The Rev. WM. HEA THCOATE DeLANCEY | 
I GRANNIS, A. M. I 

On Saturday, January 8th, 18S1, Grannis died at the residence 
of his brother-in-law, near Havana. He had gone to Cuba for the 
benefit of his health, and after a sojourn of about two months, had 
entirely recovered. On the very eve of his departure homeward, he 
was stricken down with malignatit small-pox, which, in a few days, 
caused his death. 



In the Kcnyon Advance of February, 1881, may be found, from 
the pen of a classmate, an appropriate summing up of the life of thi*" 
noble man, We will here insert from the local paper of the town in 
which he lived, the announcement of his death and the unfeigned 
grief of the whole town at his sudden demise : 

Obituary. — Rev. Wm. H. DeL. Grannis. — We deeply regret 
to announce to our readers the death of the Rev. Wm. DeL. 
Grannis, the late well-known parish Priest and Rector of St. Jame's 
Church, Goshen, who died at Havana, Cuba, on January 7th. 
When the melancholy intelligence was hrst received, through the 
newspapers, it was hoped that the announcement there made might 
prove to be erroneous, but a cablegram from the family in Havana, 
has now dispelled that hope. 

The death of Mr. Grannis will be deeply felt, not only by his 
parishioners and family, but by his many personal friends in 
this and other communities. He was a man of unusual amiability 
of character, warm-hearted, sympathetic, and devoted in his friend" , 
ship. To the sick and afflicted, his ministrations were unspeakably 
consoling ; and both his ear and his hand were always open to the 
appeals of the poor and distressed. There are few in this community 
who will not remember the warm clasp of his hand, the sympathiz- 
ing voice, and the consoling words he has spoken in times of 
affliction; nor will they fail now in substantial expressions of 
sympathy with his deeply afflicted family. Those who remember 
him as a friend of the widow and fatherless, will now have an 
opportunity to imitate his benevolent example, by extending their 
aid to his bereaved wife and children. 

Mr. Grannis was-devotedly attached to the church of which he 
was a priest, but was a man of catholic and liberal views. He was 
firmly fixed in his ecclesiastical and theological opinions, but never 
obtruded them upon others, save in the discharge of his duty as a 
clergyman. His Christianity was of an eminently practical kind, 
and his earnest and unaffected piety was well known by all his 
most intimate friends. He was not loud in professions of superior 
holiness, but was content to show his faith by his works. 

While rector of the parish at Hamilton, N. Y., he became 
inoculated with the poisons of malaria, and during the thirteen 
years of his residence in Goshen^ suffered contin^lly from that 
insiduous disease. For nearly a year past its hold upon his system 



— 13 — 

I)ecame more and more tenacious, and he was tinally obliged to 
abandon his work for a time, and, with a view of regaining his lost 
health, visited Cuba. He had been in Havana for about two 
months, during which time his dangerous symptoms abated, and he 
had so far recovered as to intend sailing for home on the 6th of 
January. Letters, written in e.xcellent spirits, and announcing his 
projected return, were received by his friends here on Friday, and 
on Sunday morning the sad news of his sudden death reached them. 

The greater part of his professional life was passed in this 
community, as' this was his third parish. He was a collegian, and 
a graduate of the General Theological Seminary of the Episcopal 
Church. He married a daughter of the late Dr. Green, and leaves 
seven children to mourn with her their irreparable loss. 

An appropriate memorial service was held at St. James' Church 
on Sunday morning, at which a funeral sermon was preached by 
the Rev. Dr. Maury, the present locum tcnens of the parish. "''■j.* 

iS.— FRANCIS GREGG, Longford, Ireland. 
Not heard from. ® 

iq.— JACOB CORWIN HANSELL. ^ 
Not heard from. 

20.— 1 JOSEPH STIBBSHARTER, A. B. I 

Accidently killed, while in the U. S. Army. 

21.— JOHN MORELAND HENDERSON. 

Not heard from. Is a lawyer in Cleveland. 



VIRGINIUS INGRAHAM. | 

Was killed by falling from the mast head of a ship in New York 
Harbor in '61. 



23._B JULIAN WILLIAM IRWIN. 



A member of the 4th O. V. I. Died of camp fever. 



— 14 — 

24.-1 JOHN l.ARZALEKE J.OHNSON. 

Is dead. 
25.— JOHN JOHNSTON, r\. B. 

Not heard from. Practicing Law in Chicago. 

26.— LUDLOW AP JONES, A. B. 

Not heard from. Practicing law in Cincinnati. 



27.— [RALPH KEELER, A. M 



Since our last publication, in all probability, Ralph Keeler's 
name is enrolled among the dead. 

We take portions of dispatches and letters concerning his life 
and death from the New York Tribune, whose correspondent he 
was : 

PROBABLE LOSS OF A ^fRIBUNE CORRESPONDENT. — NO TIDINGS OF 
MR. RALPH KEELER. — HE IS SUPPOSED TO 

HAVE BEEN DROWNED. ^ 

[By Telegraph to the Tribune.] 

Havana, Dec. 26, 1873. — I have received no particulai-s respect- 
ing Mr. Keeler, except the fact that he was missing from the steamer 
on her arrival at Manzanillo. The authorities at that place have 
charge of his effects, and will send them to me. 

H. C. Hall, U. S. Consul General. . 

[By Telegraph to the Tribune.] 

Havana, Dec. 26. — One of your correspondents, Mr. Ralph 
Keeler, is supposed to have been lost overboard from the Spanish 
mail steamer on the voyage from Santiago to Batabano. Nothing 
is known of his fate with certainty, except that he embarked at 
Santiago and was missing when the steamer stopped at Manzanillo, 
his baggage being left on board. Inquiries are making. 

[General Press Dispatch.] 

Hanana, Dec. 26. — Ralph Keeler, a special correspondent of 
the New York Tribune, mysterioush' disappeared from the steamer 
Cienfuegos on the passage from Santiago de Cuba to Manzanillo, 
and nothing has since been heard of him. His baggage was on 



— IS — 

board the steamer on her arrival at Manzanillo, aiid was delivered 
by the captain to the United States Consul there. Consul-Gener- 
al Hall and the Havana agent of the Associated Press have 
inquired by telegraph and mail in all directions for the missing man, 
but without result. It was at first supposed that Mr. Keeler had been 
left behind accidentally at Santiago ; but another steamer arrived 
to-day from that port without bringing any tidings as to his where- 
abouts. It is now feared that he fell overboard from the Cienfuegos. 

NO DOUBT OF MR. RALPH KEELER'S DEATH. 

Havana, Jan. 6. — The death of Mr. Ralph Keeler, the missing 
correspondent, is now beyond a doubt. 

We find in the Tribune three letters from classmates Shanklin, 
Brown, and Grannis. Each present Ralph's character very accurate" 
ly, and each is an appropriate obituary. We make the following 
selections from Shanklin's letter : 

To the Editor of the Tribu7ic. 

Sir : It is some time now since the news of the sad fate of 
Ralph Keeler reached the ear of the public, and so much has been 
written about him, his habits, and adventures, that it seems almost 
superfluous at this late day to add a word. Little has been said, 
however, in the published accounts of his life, of, his residence, as a 
student, at Kenyon College. The writer, who was a classmate of 
Keeler's during the years of 1859-60 and 61, has been surprised at 
this omission — a feeling that has doubtless been shared by members 
of the splendid Class of '62 all over the land. I would not use this 
rather superlative epithet to describe the class of which I was myself 
a member, were it not for the fact that the peculiar merits of that 
class were and are proverbial, many of its traditions having 
passed into the legendary history of '-Old Kenyon." In short, and 
not to dwell upon a fact that students who were there in those years 
will all readily acknowledge, to have been a member of the Class o' 
'62 was an honor that was at once the pride of its possessors, and 
the envy of all outsiders. No one was more alive to these facts 
during these memorable years than Ralph Keeler, who, with George 
Mann, Frank Crawford, and Oliver Perry, used to make things 
particularly jolly for the rest of us. Who of that merry crowd wiP 
have forgotten the ineffable blushes that used to suffuse old Prof. 
T 's cheeks, and even ascend to his shiny bald head, in the effort 



— i6 — 

to suppress the c'onflicting emotions that the frequent sallies of these 
rouges would excite? "Mr. Mann, Mr. Mann, have you no regard 
for decorum at all ?" in his cultivated Irish brogue which he brought 
with him from Trinity College, Dublin ; or, "Mr. Keeler, dear, it's 
easy seeing what will l^ecome of you," in half chiding, half amusing 
tone of voice, and not meaning in the least to be prophetic. Who 
will have forgotten the thousand such incidents that helped to make 
up the variety of those happy days ? 

Ralph Keeler was, of course, a general favorite in his class. I 
cannot say that he was distinguished for superior scholarship 
outside of the English branches, though his standing was always 
fair, except, perhaps, in mathematics. He disliked the thraldom of 
exact principles, and used to say contemptuously that it required the 
same kind of genius to master mathematics that was necessary to 
invent apple-parers and new-fashioned clothes-pins. His favorite 
poet, in those days, was Tom Moore, from whom he used to quote 
by the hour; but that should not be set down against him, for he 
doubtless outgrew a prefer'ence that is characteristic of a certain age. 
There used to be a peculiar kind of rhythmic measure in his con- 
versation that expressed itself at times even in his humorous moods, 
and added greatly to their effect. He was adventurous — physically 
as well as intellectually — and possessed a degree of courage which 
was surprising, when shown, to those M'ho judged the inner man by 
his complaisant, amiable exterior. 

Ralph Keeler's ambition always was to be known in the world 
of letters. Every other motive of his life was subordinate to this 
one, and he allowed it to interfere, on occasions, with his worldly 
interests. He never lost sight of his object during his college life, 
and his career since proves that he never did afterward. I am 
certain that he wasted many hours that should have been devoted to 
text-books in vain longings after the bubble that his hand had 
scarcely grasped when the dark waters embraced him forever. He 
was not naturally a ready writer, but by constant practice had be- 
come a decidedly correct, if not an elegant one. A good vein of 
humor is, perhaps, the most valuable gift a newspaper writer, for 
our day, can possess, and this he had in a very marked degree. One 
of the most singular facts connected with him was, that while his 



— 17 — 

idea of time was perfect, he had not the smallest conception of what 
constituted melody. He conld dance, but to save his life he could 
not turn a tune. 

Ralph Keeler's disposition and manners were such as to make 
him generallj' liked, though he never coveted ' social popularity. 
Among his intimate friends — those to whom in sympathetic mo- 
ments he used to unbosom himself — he was exceedingly congenial, 
enlivening the circle with cheery and humorous accounts of those 
adventures that seemed to have commenced with his birth. The 
recollection of those hours has often occurred to me during the 
years that have passed since we shook hands at the college door; 
but we never met again. Ralph Keeler's name, however, has a fa- 
vorite sound that will ever awaken pleasant memories in the hearts 
of those who knew him well. J. G. SH .\NKLIN. 

Ev.-^NSVILLE, Ind., Jan. 19, 1S74. 

1 do not think that a single member of the Class would uphold 
me in keeping the two following letters all to myself. They are 
the last received from the dear fellow, whose memory will always 
be a legacy to the Class of '62. They are therefore given, as 
written to our class-family and circle: 

223 W. 1 2th Street, New York, March 7, 1873. 
My Dear D'Orville: 

Your letter of Dec. 4th, 1872, has just reached 
me. My publishers didn't know where I was, so they kept it till I 
got so far back upon my "native heath" as New York. They have 
not sent me the pamphlet or the history of the Class you mention, 
and I much fear both have been lost. I can think of no literature, 
just now, that I would peruse with such interest. Will you not, 
like a good fellow, as you always were, send me another copy of the 
pamphlet and of the book ? 

I imagine from your letter that you have been printing mine. 
It is a fate that was not dreamed of for it, when it was concocted ; 
but if it has soothed one furrow from the brow of age, or preserved 
the life of any child of any classmate of mine, my modest hopes 
(after the conventional phraseology of prefaces) wifl have been more 
than realized. 

I will lay your liberal offer of wedding fees, before my intended 
when she comes up from the South. We expect her this spring or 



— i8 — 

summer. I hope that youi- wife's health is wholly restored. I hope, 
too, that you can both come on to the marriage — whenever that 
occurs. It would seem so friendly to hear our respective wives 
gossipping amicably together, abusing their neighbors and things, 
wouldn't it? 

Ulysses D. Cole was here the other day, on his wedding tour. 
He sent me notice of his coming, but, for some odd reason, sent it 
in care of Harper Brothers, and the result was that I got it on the 
day he left — too late to see him. Well, well, we must have another 
class-meeting sometime, and then we'll all "fight our battles over 
again." Sincerely your friend, 

RALPH KEELER. 

223 W. I2th St., N. Y., March 20, 1873. 
My Dear D'Orville : 

Your letter and the Class pamphlet came to hand a few days 
ago. They were both full of the old wine of our new, young lives. 
How irresistibly good and funny George Shanklin was ! Do you 
notice that we all ask in our letters for an account of what was done 
at the Class meeting ? That is certainly justification enough for the 
printing. But if you have really multiplied by two hundred the 
real solid, boiled-down joy in yonr book that I have, you have done 
more than any other living author of my acquaintance. "Much 
thanks, my lord, for your venison," therefore — your literary venison. 
It had a gamy flavor to it that has passed out of later art ; a memory 
of the old hunting-grounds where we chased the hours and Greek 
roots and things. What's the use of saying or thinking that they 
will never come again ? Who wants them to come again ? It is, 
after all, the meminisse \.\\a.i Ju7iabits, and it's only the pleasant things, 
too, that we do remember — certainly not, the Greek roots, for 
jnstance. 

As to your prodigal veal — I don't like veal ; but I should like 
ever so much to go and see you and your wife and little ones. And 
I shall do what Mrs. Dombey was called upon to do, under perhaps 
more trying circumstances — I should "make an effort." We are to 
have a sort of family meeting out West this spring or summer, and 
when I go to that, I shall try to go to you en route. I am pretty 
busy here just now, and must go to Boston as soon as I get through, 
and after that the Western travels, of which you shall have due 
warning. 



— 19 — 

When I spoke to Mr. Clapp, at Dutton's, of you, he said you 
are a good fellow. From the earnestness with which you recom- 
mend marriage to one outside the mysterious circle, and from others 
in direct causes, I am led to think that your wife is a "good fellow" 
too. And thus I subscribe to what I have said. 

Very Sincerely, 

RALPH KEELER. 

After calling up to our minds the many excellent traits of Ralph 
Keeler, and perusing these last lines from his pen, every member of 
our Class can join in the sentiment with which Grannis (now, also, 
alas! numbered with the dead) closed his letter in the Tribune: 

"Poor Ralph, peace to thee in thy watery grave! American 
boyhood learns a lesson in adversity from thy brief, but successful 
life — cheerful, exalted above repining. G. 

. Goshen, January lo, 1874." 

28.— THEODORE HARVEY KELLOGG, A. B., M. D. 

48 We?t 36th Street, New York. 

Dear Classmate: 

Your favor, inviting me to be present at the re-union of the 
Class of '62. has revived many pleasant memories. 

It is possible I may make one of the happy number that will 
then and there live over the good old times, but as yet, I can make 
no promise, lest I should fail to keep it. 

If I should not be there, I can tell you my story in a few words, 
and, perhaps, I had better write it in a line at once, so that you can 
answer any inquiry in my absence. I studied medicine four years 
in Europe, and the rest of the time I have practiced medicine in 
New York City, at one time as Physician in Charge of New York 
City Asylum for the Insane, and at present, in private practice at 
the address above given. 

Any member of the Class of '62, visiting the city, will find the 
"latch string" out. A cordial greeting to classmates, one and all, 
from Yours Fraternally, 

Rev. a. F. Blake. THEO. H. KELLOGG. 



29.— COL. JAMES KILBOURNE, A. B., L. L. B. 

Kilbourne was not only present at the Class re-union, but he 
brought with him his wife and two boys. He has three boys and 
one girl. His first ten year's record has already been printed. He 
is now President and General Manager of the Kilbourne & Jacobs 
Manufacturing Company, Columbus, Ohio. 

30.— BYRON HECTOR KH^BOURNE. 

Not heard from. Said to be in Milwaukee. Head of quite a 
family and Warden of a church. 

31.— CHARLES KING, A. M., M. D. 

Present at reunion. Practicing medicine in Newark, Ohio ; 

married and has had four children, two girls are living, a girl and 
boy are dead. 

32.— ARTHUR McGILL KINZIE. 

Not heard from. Lives in Chicago. 

33.— EDWARD AUGUSTUS KLfZMILLER. 

Not heard from. Lives in Pittsburgh. • 

34.— THE REV. NA YOONG KIUNG, A. M., 

Minister in China. Has a son now in Kenyon College. 

35.— EDWARD E. LAW. 

The following postal is all that has been received from Ed : 

EvANSViLLE, Lid., April 24, 1882. 
Dear Sir : 

The invitation to be present at Kenyon on the 28th of June, at 
a meeting of the Class of '62, is received. As I have not visited 
Kenyon since leaving there, nothing would afford me greater pleas- 
ure, and will try and do so. If, however, I should be unable to 
attend, will furnish brief sketch as requested. 

Fraternally Yours, 

EDWARD E. LAW. 
If he could only have known, that upon motion of Rectus, three 
groans were heartily given for a certain tutor whom Ed. had occas- 



M 



''' A.pr 



Bl 



'"'^ 



o 



^0 



y»/ 



4^, 



5 



■*/. 



'•^/^ 



'«7 



^ 




r 



.X5 






-^ 



'Af, 



/^c 



<5, 



^//: 



-'1' 



/v 



<5 



/ 



'^^^ 



cT. 



D^u 



s. 



^"^ 



^ 



'^e 



^ 



^ 



^.^ 3 '^^ 



t 



c 



V-.' 



% 



^/^ 



^ 



^ D 



ir> 



^ D 



A- 



ion to remember without much affection, he would undoubtedly 
have been present. 

36.— DANIEL UNDER. 

The only tidings we could get concerning Linder, was the one 
fact that he had stabbed himself, because his girl had jilted him. 
We hope this is not so, and that he is still in the land of the living. 

37.— HON. GEORGE E. MANN. 

Soon after the tenth meeting of our Class, I wrote to George, 
and received the following reply : 

Galveston, Texas, October 14, 1872. 
My Dear Doty : 

I had never heard of you since '61, except indirectly and 
vaguely, till I received your letter of last summer, telling of re-union 
of Class of '62, which reached me too late to get there. 

I wrote to you at once to Gambler, and have had hopes you 
received it and would write and tell me all about yourself, and also 
give me the Kenyon news. I have been in Texas and at this point 
five years practicing law. Present success and future prospects 
good, and like my new home and my profession. Have settled 
down and am a steady-going church warden. Am not married and 
not a candidate for matrimony. 

I came to this burg an entire stranger, dead broke by the war, 
and at the end of three years and a half was made, by unanimous 
choice of our bar of seventy odd members. Judge of this the most 
important district in the State. So you can imagine I've been 
rather hard at work. Just at present my partner is in New York on 
business, and I am doing double duty. 

I am out of the reach of all Kenyonites, and hear nothing of or 
from them. Give me a full account of yourself and all the news. 
Truly, as of old, your friend, 

P.O. Box 1 149. GEO. E. MANN. 

It seems from the following, clipping under date of April 21, 
1876, that George concluded to change his mind upon the matri- 
monial question : ' 



SCOTT — MANN. 

An event which, owing to the prominence of the contracting 
parties, has created considerable interest in our first social circles, 
took place quietly, last night, at the residence of Major M. C. Mc- 
Lemore, Sixteenth street and Avenue K., Rev. S. M. Bird 
officiating. The persons joined in wedlock were Judge George E. 
Mann and Mrs. Scott. It is learned that but a few intimate friends 
were present. 

We append a letter from George, received in June, by Napier : 

Galveston, Tex., June 13, 1882. 
Dear Allen : 

I should like to be at Gambler on the 28th, but it is impossi" 
ble, as my partner is away for the summer. 

If you get there, give salutations and regards to all the old 
boys, and tell them to think of me when they talk over the old 
times of ye Class of '62 ; and specially of the Class rebellion ; of 
the gander pulling ; of the Class triangle — Kinzie, Law and Mann ; 
of the time Oronhyatekha played Prof. Smith and ran Rinespringer 
and myself out of the orchard, and I beat the Indian running; of 
the faculty meeting, when I was asked by Prex how long I had 
been in the habit of throwing wood down the steps when I heard 
the tutor coming up at odd hours, and I replied, it did not amount 
to a habit, and was only an occasional exercise. 

Well, I was here interrupted, and must abruptly close, with 
best regards. ' Truly Your Friend, 

G. E. MANN. 



38.— I GEORGE GORDON MAXWELL, M. D. 
No further tidings, except that he is dead. 

39.— CHARLES STEWART MEDARY. 
Lives in Columbus, Ohio. 

40.— JOHN DOWNING MURPHY. ' 
Not heard from. 



— ^^ — 

41.— ALLAN NAPIER, A. M. 

Was present, as will be observed in the photograph. Charley 
King gave an endless amount of amusement in ordering the artist 
to "be very sure and get Nape's 'Burnsides' in." I think the 
following characteristic letter from Napier, should not be left out: 

New York, April, 26, 1S82. 

To Allen, Badger, Blake, Brown, Curtis, Cole, Dooris, Doty, 
Ernest, Kilbourne, King, "Posie," Pratt, Vance, 
Rectus, et al. Salutans in Domino: 

Pcnnani niea?n nianuni meo cepi, epistolain vobis saihere. "We'll 
never sign that pledge." "Haette er die Wahrheit gesagt, so waere 
er nicht gezuechtigt worden." 

£is Gambicr Ana baino. That is Deo zolente, and if the creek 
don't rise, it's my present intention to come and see you face to face 
on or about the XXVII die jumi anno doniini 1882. 

For fear that something might prevent, I wish you all a merry 
time. Shake hands with all. Since our last re-union, I have kept 
at the same business, being now located at 526 Broadway, corner 
vSpring street. How I miss dear Grannis ; he used often to call in the 
store. Kenyon boys are not numerous here. Geo. Put. and W^m. 
Hyde are living, one in Brooklyn, the other in New York.' 

On the 20th of June, 1877, I was married at Zion Church, 
Greene, N. Y., by the Rev. Albert W. Snyder, to Miss Mary Man- 
ning, of Greene. On the 22d of December, 1880, was born to us a 
daughter. Sarah Weeks Napier, named after her grandmother. 

Whenever any of '62 boys come to New York, they must step 
in and see me at 526, Broadway, or during evenings at 22 Strong 
Place, Brooklyn. l^alete Fratres. 

ALLAN NAPIER. 

42.— ORONHYATEKHA, M. D. 

Not heard from. Supposed to be practicing medicine in 
London, Canada. 

43.— CHARLES FORREST PAINE, A. B., M. D. 

Besides the following letters from Charley, we know that he is 
mai'ried to Miss Belle Coleman : 



— 24 — 

Troy, Pa., April 28, 1882. 
Dear Blake : 

I was exceedingly gratified to receive your kind letter. If 
possible, I will be at commencement in June. I am anxious to set 
my eyes upon you once more. I trust that the same good feeling 
still exists amongst the surviving members of '62 that did during 
our trials and tribulations. 

1 would rejoice to hear the varied experiences of the Class, in 
its fight, with the world. 

With much regards, I am yours in the bonds. 
To THE Rev. A. F. Blake. CHAS. F. PAINE. 

Troy, Pa., June 15, 1882. 
Dear Blake : 

Your kind letter was duly received, and contents noted. I 

regret to say that I cannot promise to be at Kenyon on the glorious 

occasion. My professional engagements are such, at present, that I 

cannot commit them to the hands of another. If possible, shall be 

with you. 

I am very anxious to be there, as it is many years since I met a 

member of the Class. I have no photograph of myself at present, 

which I can send you. I will endeavor to send some short account 

of my doings since 1862. With best wishes, yours, 

C. F. PAINE. 



44-— I DEVVIT CLINTON PARSHALL, Jr. 



Died in 1867. 



45— S OLIVER HAZARD PERRY, A. M., M. D. I 
Died at Hopkinsville, Ky., Feb. 17th, 1873. 

After the sad news of Perry's death had reached me, I wrote to 
his brother, the Rev. Henry G. Perry, A. M. (Kenyon), Chicago, 
for certain facts pertaining to the life of Oliver, and in the course of 
a few weeks I received a letter from his sister. Miss Emily B. Perry, 
extracts from which are appended : 

"Brother Oliver was born in the City of Alton, Illinois, on the 
26th day of February, 1841." 



'■He was prepared for college al a classical school (Mr. Child's) 
in the ,City of Cleveland, Ohio, in which place niv father then 
resided.'' 

•'.He was married in Cleveland, Ohio, October 31st, 1864.'' 

"He was gratluated in medicine by the Kentucky School of 
Medicine, in Louisville, Ky., February, 1866; had in March, 1867 
received the degree aJ emidem from the Medical Department of the 
University of Louisville; also 'additional diplomas', from the above 
institutions, as also 'extra testimonial honorary of attendance at 
Long Lsland Hospital, N. Y.' May 17th, 1866, he accepted the 
position of Assistant Physician in the Western Lunatic Asylum, 
Hopkinsville, Ky., which position he held for two years. From 
there, he went to the City of New York, and after attending 
lectures at Long Island Hospital, N. Y., he for very near two years 
traveled through the Eastern, Western, and Southern States, visiting 
prominent asylums and hospitals, both public and private, in order 
to perfect himself in this particular branch — insanity — as he intended 
making it a specialty ; but just as he was making final arrange- 
ments to open a private asylum, he was suddenly seized with hem- 
orrhage, and from that time, which was nearly two years before his 
death, his health gradually, but surely failed, and though walking 
and riding about, was never able to attend to any kind of business. 
He was confined to his bed just three months, and during that time 
a very great sufferer." 

"P. S. — I notice that I have failed to mention, that during the 
spring and summer of 1865, brother Oliver acted as druggist in the 
U. S. Hospital, at Natchez, Mississippi, in which were confined the 
sick and wounded of both armies — Federal and Confederate. 

E. B. P." 

A brother physician published a very interesting obituary 
notice in the Kentucky New Era, from which we take the following 
passages : 

DR. OLIVER HAZARD PeRRY. 

Dr. Perry was truly a good man — amiable and gentle as a 
woman, but as true to his sense of right as the needle to the pole. 
He was generous to a fault, warm in affection and .sincere to friends, 
with whom he always kept faith. He was incapable of treachery 
or double-dealing. Littleness, meanness, and hypocrisy, were 



— i6 — 

foreign to liis nature. Mis intercourse with liis fellows in the world, 
in society and every circle in which he moved, was frank, open as 
the day, and known to all men. He had nothing to conceal and 
lived in no fear of criticism. To those who differed with him, he 
was always respectful, and as liberal a.s the most exacting partisan 
could desire. No young man ever lived, or died, in this community, 
whose character had fewer faults or was more free from blemish. 

No man of his age, in this country, out of public life was ever 
more generallv known and appreciated. He had friends — warm 
friends — and an extensive acquaintance in almost every consid- 
erable city in the Union — Boston, New York, Baltimore, New 
Orleans, and San Francisco. ,\nd among hundreds, from whom we 
have heard, we have the same exalted opinion of his character, and 
the same expression of heart-felt regret and sorrow at his untimely 
decease. 

In point of intellect, he had no superior of whom we have any 
knowledge. From his early boyhood to the end of his career, he 
was a conscientious and indefatigable student. When even in a 
tolerable state of health, he permitted not a single dav to pass 
without accomplishing some desirable improvement. And in days 
and long weeks of illness, he devoted much of his time to the more 
elegant literature of the age in which he lived — not, however, 
at the expense of more serious interests. He was an humble and 
unjiretending Christian — not anxious to be seen of men, but not 
ashamed of the Faitli he had professed. 

Calling to mind his extensive reading, we cannot forbear 
to mention an interesting I'act. The works of Charles Dickens were 
"household words" to him. At the word of command, all the 
characters of this great author passed in review before him, "with 
the rapidity of a drama," and as if they were creations of his own. 
His conversation, never dull or wearisome, was, on this and kindred 
subjects, in the highest degree entertaining and profitable. He was 
naturally a man of superior judgment, and careful and high culture 
of his fine mind had refined and elevated his taste, until he was no 
mean critic. A scholar of the first order, he graduated with high 
honors at Kenyon College, Ohio, one of the noblest seats of learning 
in this country. He was also a member of several literary societies 
now well known to educated men all over the land. He was also a 



graduate in nicclicine, ami we ne\er ilnuliU-d his aciiuirint,' niari<ed 
distinction in the jiractice. Me had tdiosen a specialty— insanity — 
had r|ualitied himself, «ith j^reat industry, for tlie work, and was 
aliout ready to undertake its weighty res|:)onsibilities wlien jiros- 
trated by the fearful malady of which he died. 

Genial and wdiole-souled, po.ssesse I of nianv hap|)v qua'ities, he 
was ever welcome. A sparkling wit, a line flowing humor, 
facetious and sprightly, he was a companion for kings! From those 
wdTo knew him well, his very presence served to banish gloom and 
despondency. His conversation was always ehaste and elegant, and 
he scattered flowers lavishly all about his pathway in life. 

One point more to which we desire to call attention. He was 
connected by ties of blood with some of the greatest names that 
adorn our history ; but he honored them as we do only, and took 
no credit to himself on account of the acciaental relation he bore 
them. He felt the necessity of standing on his own merits, and he 
would have scorned any claim to share the honors of a kinsman, 
won without an effort on his own part. 

That the time of his departure was near at hand, we had every 
reasonable assurance; but. for all that, his loss was most keenly 
felt. We know that he fully anticipated the change that was 
awaiting him, and that he was prepared to meet the King of 
Terrors with all the fearlessness and calm self-possession that so 
plainly marked his character. 

His ]ioi5ular manners and simplicity <if conduct, his kindly, 
sympathetic nature, and the gentleness of his disposition, made him 
many frientls among all classes, and disarmed enmity itself. 

He endured a long and painful illness with commendable 
patience and fortitude, and finally passed away calmly and in perfect 
peace to everlasting and eternal rest. 

"Le.ives have ttieir time to fall. 

.\nd flowers to wither at the \orth wind's breath, 
.\nd stars to set — but all — 

Thou hast all seasons for thine own, oh. Death 1" 

The day after the funeral service, (February 20th), the remains, 
in charge of his brother, Willis G. Perry, Esq., were removed 
to Akron, Ohio, for sepulture, on Sunday, the 23d, in the private 
cemetery belonging to relatives there — at their request, and that of 
the deceased. 



— 28 — 

46.— THE REV. WILLIAM MORTON POSTLETHWAITE, 
A. M. 

"Posy" was present; says he is a happy married man, and the 
father of two boys, only one of whom is living. He hails now from 
the Unitei.1 States Military Academy, at West Point, New York, 
where he is' Professor of Ethics and Chaplain. 

47.— THE REV. GEORGE BUFFET P PRATT, A. M. 

George has written a letter, which is herewith appended. He, 
however, forgets to say that he has two boys — only one living : 

Hastings, Minnesota, June 24, 1882. 
My Dear D'Orville: 

Vou have no conception what a pain it is to give away from the 
idea of being with you and the Class of '62, on the coming 20th 
anniversary. It is wofse than a Lenten Sacrifice. Since your postal, 
saying that most of the "boys" will be there, I have ever had you in 
mind. Night and morn, I have pictured the scene of the old faces, 
gathered around some feast table, or walking up and down the old 
path. Then, I have conceived the scene of a grand serenade to 
some of the oldest families of the Hill, wherein the old songs were 
sung by voices which have not lost their tiii-:ber, but have lessened 
up somewhat on their sweetness. Poor Oliver Perry fell otf the 
tence serenading some of the Columbus nieces, and Sa:m. Clark 
Looked daggers, even in a midnight darkness. 

I should come with a guitar, if I could, and light right down 
among you in the happiest spirit of "ye days of yore." 

1 am far away now, but my momory is as green as any boy's 
w;-ho meets with you. Tlie thought, that it is only once in twenty 
years, staggers me with the flight of time and the prospect of 
growing old. I have ran over the whole list of the Class, as Hoddie 
used to call it at "prayers," and have surmised that there is little 
reason why a majority should not be there. 

I shall want full accounts of proceedings, and will bear my 
share in all expenses for printing, etc. I wonder if Hen. and Fred, 
remember the morn there were only five of us at recitation, 
when all the rest of "ye Class" were out in open rebellion, and 
we five were in pnz,ate rebellion, but succumbed to parental 
authority. 



nf^ m 



■jimiM'fi.imi-\i;iifM<''hyrm'iSti-«iig;iimw. 



Many were the tears I shed before mother, because I was tied 
to her apron strings ; but the sequel proved we were' not in such 
great dishonor after all. Shake hands with every soul for me, and 
remember my heart is fm once where my love cannot follow it. 
Write me, and if you or any mother's son of them pass me by in 
traveling out in this direction, I shall never forgive you. I look for 
you. Sincerely, 

GEO. B. PRATT. 

48.— GEORGE WILLIAM SHANKLIN. 
See Gil's letter printed below. 

49.— JOHN GILBERT SHANKLIN. 

EvANSViLi.E, June 14, 1882. 
My Dear Classmates : 

Since I prematurely severed my connection with old Kenyon, 

I have never revisited its classic shades. The tifth and tenth 

anniversaries have come and gone, and now the twentieth is here, 

and again the inexorable decree of circumstances arises to hold me 

here, who would fain take the wings of morning and fly to the 

companionship of those who have gathered to rekindle the old 

friendships, and to recount the events that have come to each one 

since wc shook hands and said good-bye around the ivy that was 

l>lanted twenty years ago. An autobiographical sketch must be 

done with address, or it may seem egotistical when it is only 

intended to be confidential. The fact, that I have been remembered 

all these years, is a proof that the old attachment, that made the 

Class of '62 the most envied one of (jur time, still unites its members 

with a sympathy that distance cannot divide, and I therefore write 

to you frankly of myself, and what the years have brought to me. 

After a course of law in the office of my brother-in-law, John M. 

Harlan, who then lived at Frankfort, Kentucky, and who is now 

an Associate Justice . of the Supreme Court of the United States, I 

was admitted to the bar of this, my native city, and began the 

practice of law early in 1863. It was most uncongenial to my tastes, 

and, after two years of experiment, I went to Europe in 1865, 

traveled extensively over the continent, and finally settled down to 

study in the fine old city of Brunswick, where I devoted myself to 



— 30 — 

the German language, with a view to matriculating as a citizen of 
the University of Berlin, which I did early in 1867. Here I 
remained three terms, returning home in 1868, after an absence of 
about three years and a half. Findii% my brother George, 
proprietor of the Daily Courier, I became associated with him in 
the publishing business, to which I have devoted my energies since, 
at least during the greater part of the time. In 1870, I was nomin- 
ated by the Democratic county convention for the Legislature, but 
the county being hopelessly Republican, I was defeated with the 
rest of the ticket. In 1878, I was nominated for Secretary of State, 
and elected. After serving two years, I was nominated for re- 
election ; but it was not the Democratic year in Indiana, so I 
returned to Evansville, and again mounted the tripod. On June, 
14th, 1879, three years ago to-day, I was married to Gertrude Arms 
Avery, a daughter of Mr. B. F. Avery, of Louisville, Ky., and in 
June of the following year a daughter was born to us, whose name 
is Susanna Avery. 

These are the main incidents of my career, which has not been 
so eventful as to be remarkable ; and yet, m^ life has been as free 
from misfortunes and as full of enjoyments as are given to the lot of 
most men. My brother George is still a bachelor, and lives with 
me. We have never been separated, except during the years I was 
abroad, and often in our leisure hours we beguile the time with 
recollections of the jolly days we spent at old Kenyon. How I 
should love to be with you in reality, as I shall be in thought and 
feeling, at this re-union I I can hear the campus ring with the 
shouts of those who forget that they are men, surrounded by the 
scenes and friends of twenty years ago. All the old haunts will be 
revisited, and the spirits of departed companions invoked as the 
pipes are lighted and the glasses filled, and memory is allowed an 
unchallenged sway. I can see it and feel it all in imagination, and 
I raise my voice with yours in the chorus, " Vive la re-union, vivc la 
compagnie'' ' /.'.' 

Very sincerely your friend and classmate, 

\ J. G. SHANKLIN. 



I JACOB STAMP, M. D. I 



so- 
ls dead 



— 31 — 

51.— MARCUS JAMES STAMP. 

All we know of Mark is thai he is living somewhere in 
Colorado. 

52.— WALTER SCOTT STARK. 
Not heard from. 

53.— JOSEPH ROCKWELL SWAN, Jr. 

The following letter has been received from Joe.: 

75 Genesee St., Utica, N. Y., June i, 1882. 
My Dear Blake : ' 

Your esteemed favor of the 21st of April eame duly to hand, 
and I have delayed answering it in the hope of being able to answer 
affirmatively your very kind invitation to join in the re-union of the 
old Class of '62. I find, however, that my engagements v.'ill be 
such as to render it impossible for me to be with you on an occasion 
that I can well imagine will have its sad, as well as its happy 
features. 

Nothing, I can assure you, would give me greater pleasure than 
to once more see the familiar faces, which, twenty years ago, met 
daily on the campus and in the class room — to hear the story which 
each must have to tell of twenty years experience — to know where 
each has drifted, and through what paths each has wandered. But 
what cannot, cannot be, and I am compelled to submit to the 
deprivation. 

My kindest regards and remembrances remain with each one of 
you, and when you meet, I hope you will give a kindly thought to 
your absent classmate. Very Truly Yours, 

J. R. SWAN, Jr. 

54.— THE REV. THOMAS ORKNEY TONGUE. 

And here is a letter from Tongue, who, by his aljsence, has 
richly earned the title "Lapsus Lingua'' : 

Greenport, Suffolk Co., N. Y., June 15, 1882. 
My Dear Fred : 

Your kind letters have all been received. I have been waiting 
to see if I could make arrangements to go to Ohio. I cannot 



begin to tell you how much I would love to go and see the dear old 
boys once more, and visit my old college acquaintances. I fear, 
however, I shall not be able to leave home. I have an invalid wife 
and a large family, who require my constant care. If I find I can 
come, I will notify you at the last hour. It may be that I shall 
come without any notice at all, as I may not know till the hour I 
start that I can come at all. 

At all events, I will send you a picture and a letter, and' if the 
pictures and letters of the dear fellows are to be had, I inust have 
them. Remember me most affectionately to the "committee" and 
others. 

Yours as fresh and warm in love and respect as ever, 

TONGUE. 

55.— PHILEMON BEECHER VAN TRUMP. 

Nothing heard from him whom good Prof. Trimble used to call 
"Trumps" for short. 

56.— JOHN RANDOLPH VANCE, A. B. 
Not heard from. 



57.— I MATTHEW LOUIS WILSON, A. B. 



Died the year after graduation. 

58.— THE REV. WILLIAM EDWARD WRIGHT, A. ^\., B. I). 

Wright was on hand, and gave his record, as follows : Is a 
married man and the father of five boys and three girls, one of whom 
is in Paradise. Rectus is Rector of St. John's Church, Warsaw, 
Wisconsin, and Grand Chaplain of the Grand Lodge of Masons and 
Chapter of the State. 

After the within, record was finished, and the moistened eyes 
and aching hearts over our dead classmates had once again been 
restored, the thanks of the Class were unanimously tendered to Fred 
Blake, for his efforts in making this re-union successful. At this 
juncture, the door of the mysterious closet was opened, and an 
old-fashioned college boys' lunch was brought out for our refresh- 
ment. It is unnecessay here to give the bill of fare, suffice it to say, 



— 33 — 

it was nol ])iii\ied either upon swcel-scented and cream-tinted pajier 
or satin : tliere was no necessity of such extravagance : tlie provision 
was good, and the quantity was aiu[)ly sufficient for our needs. The 
only thing we missed was some of Mailame Sawyer's oyster slev\', 
concerning which, dear okl Perry used to sa_\-, there were always 
"/(V/ s/eiC's 1o oiil OYsth-y This hour of refieshnient was rapidly 
passed, interspersed, as it was, M-iih storv and song. 'J"he President 
then called the L'lass to order, and l''rcd lilake read the following 
poem : 

T)car CUissiiuites. u> wc gallier here tn-day. 

To talk of those scenes, long since passed away. 

My thoujihts turn toward n fnniuain fair, which stands, 

A graceful figure, with mit-stretched hands. 

Through which the water glides unconsciously 

To join tides flowing to the far-off sea. 

For so it .seems, ^uc "take no note of time," 

As the years drop into th.it gulf suhlimc. 

Where all the past lies buried out of sight. 

Save tliat which recollection brings to light. 

Can it be twenty years since we were boys, ; 

.■Vnd shared each other's college cares and joys ? 

Can It be twenty years since "si.\ty-two, ' 

Bade each other a last, sad, fond adieu ? 

Can it be twenty years since our old Class 

Out of the shelter of the port did pa.ss, 

Each man to steer his own bark through life's sea, 

Toward that bright haven, where he fain would be? 

As backward on those years we turn our sight. 

How few their number seems, how swift their flight. 

"Pis true, full twelve score months have sped away 

Since we were parted on Commencement day ; 

But now, how like a dream their course appears; 

Or, like the strange mirage, which, when one nears, 

Dissolves in thinest air and leaves no trace 

Of all the objects which seemed not in space. 

Time may h.ave w'ritten wrinkles on each brow. 

And gray hairs may have come, vvc scarce know how ; 

Care may have rested heaxily on all. 

While striving to respond to duty's call : 

Each man has taken up his work in life. 

.A.nd thrown himself into its ceaseless strife ; 

Crrief may have cast a shadow o'er the heart : 

We may have learned how hard it is to part 

^\'ith .some dear loved one of our heart and home : 

^\' c may have found how s.ul it is to roam 



— 34 — 

Far from our kindred and our dearest friends; 
That keen disappointment which oft attends 
Men's efforts, may have fallen to our lot, 
And even now a dropping tear may blot 
The mental page, on which we strive to trace 
Features of classmates, who have run their race. 
- Yet, e'en though it must be with moistened eye. 
We gaze on visions of the days gone by. 
For a short time, we will be boys again. 
And lay aside the thoughts and cares of men ; 
We'll sing old songs and bring from out our store 
Strange tales and merry jests of days of yore. 
Ah, happy days ! on which the glow of youth 
Rests, like a halo round the brow of truth ! 
Feign would we turn to live again those hours. 
Which once we spent within these classic bowers ! 
Nor is that so difficult as 'twould seem, 
We have but to yield to a waking dream. 
And lo, we stand in that familiar land, 
Where once we dwelt, a jolly student band ; 
We have not yet passed the sophomore stage, 
Though our "sheep skins" have grown yellow with age ; 
Though close our studies and prolonged our quest. 
Our wisdom is but foolishness, at best. 
We may sit and blink like owls in the day, 
With a show of learning make display. 
But each in his heart owns himself a fool, , 
And longs to be back again at that school. 
Where, though he may "poney" and "stuff" and "cram," 
He knows there is no use to play the sham ; 
The eyes of students transfix with a look, 
And read a man through like an open book ; 
We had best, therefore, cast off all disguise. 
And own in "bli.ss 'tis jolly to be wise." 
As stiff old horses, when they are turn'd out, 
Kick up their heels and prance and run about. 
So let us act like youngsters once again, 
Forgetting our office, study, and pen ; 
And let the youth that is within us still 
Come forth and gambol on this classic Hill ; 
Let him shout and sing and swear by that Class, 
(Such as ne'er was and never .shall be, alas); 
Let him bubble over with fun and laughter. 
Raising his voice until floor and rafter 
Ring with the sound of his jubilant glee. 
Till care is dislodged and gloomy thoughts flee. 
And the worn toiler is as light-hearted 
As on that day when our Class departed 



— 35 — 

From Alma Mater's lialls, to make its way 
Where there is so much work and little play. 
None but a Cynic will seek to deride, 
Because we are not staid and dignified ; 
Surely no one need dissolve in tears, 
Because, for a time forgetting our years. 
We seem to drink of that fabled fountain. 
Which flows forth from mythical mountain, 
And renews the youth of him who shall first 
Discover its source and slacken his thirst. 
'And as the mountain climber, with spell-bound eyes. 
Looks on the fair scene which beneath him lies. 
So let us turn to feast our longing sight 
On scenes, mid which we mingled with delight. 
True, I do not possess the poet's art ; 

I cannot touch, with strange, mystic power, 
Those golden springs which lie within the heart; 

Nor with influence, like summer's shower, 
Refresh the drooping soul and with new life 

Revive the spirit, as with longing dreams. 
It turns away from wearing toil and strife 

To seek for rest amid these well-known scenes. 
I cannot backward turn the wheels of time, 

And with a firm but gentle touch restore 
That living presence, whose memories chime 

Within us still, and shall ring forever more ; 
But, perchance, words may come, which shall recall 

Records of hours gone down the slope of time, 
Over which we would not cast oblivion's pall, 

But rescue, though it be in halting rhyme. 
The living present hides the past from .sight, 

And drowns, with its loud din and noisy talk. 
That still voice, which, murmuring with delight. 

Steals, like an echo, down the quiet walk. 
Where recollection moves with stately pace. 

In pensiveness recalling many a scene. 
O'er which she lingers with a smiling face, 

As fancy re-enacts it on the green. 
Let us then listen for her voice to-day, 

And as we gather in this dear old hall, 
Turn our eyes and thoughts completely away 

From life's corroding cares, and let them fall 
On those days of yore, when, as students still, 

We all played our parts on this mimic stage. 
And dreamed that through study and classroom drill 

Each was making his mark on wisdom's page. 
It was, indeed, a vain and foolish dream, 



3^^ - 



Fading out like a spark from life's swift train ; 
But not for naught, as to some ling'ring theme, 

Whicli sings within the wrapt musician's hrain. 
Turn we again to those old student days. 

Feeling that through glimpses from dream land chime 
Come strength to work in our respective ways, 

That duty which the true man owes to time. 
Wc lift the curtain from the shadowy past. 

As doves to the window the visions fly, 
Of former friends, whose lots in life are cast, 

Remote from tliose in which our duties lie. 
Again, we seem to hear each well-known .voice, 

'I'o see each well-known form engaged in play ; 
To listen mutely, while our hearts rejoice 

To the sweet converse of that early day. 
I'pon the path 'neath maple boughs we walk, 

Linked .arm in arm with comrades tried and true ; 
With merry jests enlivening all our talk. 

Our eyes enraptured by that matchless view. 
And when shades of evening drop gently round. 

Strains of music, which to the night belong. 
Seem to rise up a.'; from the very ground. 

The old hill re-echoing with our song. 
Near banks, through which Kokosiiig's waters flow. 

We stretch at full length on the springing grass, 
Watching, with half-shut eyes, the changing show 

Of clouds, in fleecy form or solid mass ; 
Or turning from those fleets, which sail the sky, 

We launch upon the tide some dream-land boat, 
Freighted with many a wish or hope or sigh. 

Which perish with the bark in which they float. 
Then, as the humor changes, like the cloud. 

We shake off the dull torpor of the dream. 
And swell the number of that merry crowd. 

Plunging and splashing in the sparkling stream ; 
Then, clothed again, we take our homeward way, 

'Ihrough rustling corn or nodding golden grain. 
Across those flelds where now the students play 

'Mid echoes of the swiftly flying train. 
Ah I In those deaf old days, when wc were boys, 

No whistle breaks the stillness of the air. 
Nor rumbling train, with loud-, discordant noise, 

Disturbs the silence of our evening prayer. 
The bustlin.g, struggling world seems far away. 

And, like old monks within their cloister shade. 
We dream not by night, nor picture by day, 

Changes so great as time has made. 



— 37 - 

Enough for us, tluit from some wiudow height, 

We may look out upon those twinkling stars, 
Which like a crown bedeck the brow of night, 

And through clouds of smoke from gleaming cigars. 
Discuss themes too deep for feeble powers. 

Till the vam argument ends in a jest, 
Or the near appr<iach of the wee small hours 

Bids us cease luir chatter and go to rest. 
It seems we can scarce have shut up our eyes, 

When rudely on our slumbering ear there breaks 
A sound, at which we start up in surprise. 

As the bed trembles and the window shakes 
'Neath the vibrations of the swinging bell, 

Which calls us up at an unearthly hour, 
To shake off quickly our sweet, drowsy spell, 

And scud for "prayers" through sun or shower. 
Like a pistol shot, we are out of bed. 

Uncertain whether 'tis the sun or moon 
Which shines on our frouzy, disheveled head, 

As we pull the leg of a pantaloon, 
Or tug at the strap of a stubborn boot, 

Declaring, "Dear, me ! it can't be morning !" 
Though striving hard to be ready to shoot 

When the bell rings out its notes of warning. 
Perhaps, in our haste, we can't find our coat, 

So catching up quick some wrap from our couch. 
We leap down the stairs like a mountain goat, 

Or Indian brave, in blanket and pouch. 
And mingle with those in the streaming rout. 

Who, with garments hung on, they know not how, 
Lift up the cry, "String out ! string out !l string out !!1" 

To hear, "Too late; ye cannot enter now." 
Then, as horses defeated in a race. 

With blankets drawn across our heaving breasts. 
With drooping heads and slow, dejected pace. 

We turn away to, seek our coat, and vests ; 
And when "Prexy" asks us for our excuse, 

Struggling most manfully to seem composed, 
Seeking to look subjected to abuse, 

We answer shortly, "We were indisposed .'" 
None, who recall those morning devotions, 

Which called us out twenty minutes of seven. 
Can now retain any lingering notions, 

They were thereby brought much nearer to heaven. 
That dim sepulchral light, that awful chill. 

Which filled the place where we met for prayer. 
Was enough to cause one, against his will, 



- 38- 

If pious to groan, if wicked to swear. 
We congratulate, theretore, each student, 

Who before morning prayer never breaks his bread, 
On a change so plainly wise and prudent, 

As to call for no proof under that head. 
And we thank again those friends in the East, 

Who have built us that lovley house of prayer, 
Whose beauty is a perpetual feast, 

Whose chimes fall sweetly on the quiet air. 
But the present use of those college chimes 
Is to bid me cut short these prolix rhymes. 
Rest the machine from its tedious grind. 
And give others a chance to speak their mind. 
"A few more words, then," (as we preachers say) 
Of exhortation, and we shall give way 
To wiser men, whose eloquent address. 
May tell what we vainly sought to e.xpress. 
Like the old man of the sea, so to speak. 
Sticks in our memories that bit of Greek 
DI AGON AS KATA NIKAS—mo\.to 
Half prophetic, as our histories show; 
The first clause e.xperience has explained ; 
To the second, we have not yet attained. 
As the acts of our lives pass in review, 
Their struggles are many, their triumphs few. 
But we will not despond, nor seek to shun 
That work in life which is yet to be done. 
Though the visions of youth have faded away, 
Like bright morning stars at the break of day. 
And hopes we cherished are lost in night. 
Never again to come forth to the light. 
There is work to do e're our life is past. 
Which should bring us inward peace at the last. 
And a joy sweeter than the fairest gleam 
That brightened the face of our youthful dream. 
Alma Mater looks to each loyal son, 
To assist her until that work is done 
Which shall fill her waiting and outstretched arms, 
' And adorn with new jewels her many charms ; 
Until all her rooms shall be full of boys, 
Who add to her cares and increase her joys, 
Until she no longer knows what to do, 
Like "the old woman who lived in the shoe." 
Alma Mater! we pledge thee our support. 
Where e're we roam, with whom we may consort. 
We would not seem ungrateful for thy care, 
But of thy burdens gladly bear our share ; 
Our earnest love for thee shall ne'er grow cold, 



— 39 — 

How ever far we wander from thy fold ; 

For as the years go rolling swiftly by, 

That shall but grow the stronger till we die. 

Happy were the days we spent with thee, 

Learning lessons of wisdom at thy knee, 

Sporting in the light of thy gracious face. 

Following thy footsteps as thou dids't trace 

That mazy path which leads to learning's seat, 

Would that we could recall those years — so fleet — 

Which have hastened away since in our youth, 

Thou feddest us with wholesome bread of truth ! 

But all such wishes are foolish and vain. 

And generally end in regret and pain ; 

Though we sometimes long to be young again, 

Far better it is that we are men, 

With stout heart and hand, toiling in that spot 

Where it pleased Providenca to cast o.ir lot 

To spend and be spent for others' good. 

Sustained by the thought of our brotherhood. 

Then, by those fair, bright visions of the past, 

Which crowd themselves upon us thick and fast. 

By the memories of those vanished years, 

Whose echoes fall on our listening ears, 

By the glowing delight which thrills our frames. 

As old friendships burst again into flames ; 

By our thoughts of those now lying asleep 

Where the myrtle blooms and the willows weep. 

Oh, brothers ! let us pledge ourselves anew. 

In Kenyon's interest, ever to be true 

To those noble lessons which she has taught. 

And in each succeeding action and thought. 

So to carry out that which she has begun. 

That our life's work may indeed be well done ; 

Then, when our sun shall near its going down, 

Our faith shall behold a heavenly crown. 

It is needness to say that this contribution to the pleasure of 
the evening was thoroughly appreciated, and that the boys, with 
accustomed unanimity and heartiness, gave a solid vote of thanks. 

In the old Secretary's book was found, (besides the ^'■Pledge,'" 
the history of which will probably always be a little nauseous to 
every man) a song, written by that noble, enthusiastic and whole- 
souled classmate, Edward Bates. Doty led off on the verses, and 
the whole Class joined in the chorus with tremendous effect. We 
here reproduce the song for the benefit of those who vv'ere not pi'esent : 



— 40 — 

SONG BY EDWARD BATES. 

Oh, we deemed it perfectly right, sir, 
On a certain Monday night, sir, 
For the Sophies to unite, sir, 
From class to stay away. 
Chorus: 
Oh ! its the way we have at old Kenyon I 

The tale was quickly told, sir, 
Concerning a deed so bold, sir. 
And how our Prof, was sold, sir, 
When the Sophies stayed away. 
[Chorus.] 

Pre.\y was awfully mad, sir. 
His face looked tearfully sad, sir ; 
He said 'twas terribly bad, sir. 
From class to stay away, 
[Chorus.] 

In solemnity they met, sir, 

And concluded they would let, .sir ; 

The Sophomores regret, sir, 

That from class they stayed away. 
[Chorus.] 

Some wrote out explanations. 
Others interpretations, 
To break up our combinations, 
From class to stay away. 
[Chorus.] 

But our honor we could not kill, sir. 
By signing the President's bill, sir; 
Our trunks we'd rather fill, sir. 
And homeward wend our way. 
[Chorus.] 

They were under a fatal delusion. 
When they thought without confusion. 
To enforce their resolution. 
"Sign, or go away !" 

[Chorus.] 

The pledge we cannot obey, sir ; 

It don't mean what they say, sir ; 

They explained it all away, sir, 

For fear we would not stay 

[Chorus.] 



— 40 — 

The pledge has wingeil its flight, sir — 
Has departed out of sight, sir : 
Once more we may unite, sir, 
From class to stay away. 
[Chorus. 1 
It met a mysterious fate, sir ; 
Its form we cannot relate, sir ; 
We are simply allowed to state, .sir, 
From life it has passed away. 
Chorus : 
Oh ! it's the way we have at old Kenyon ! 

The early hour of morning was l)y this time breaking u]3on us 
— reluctantly, therefore, we were forced to an adjournment — not, 
however, before receiving a cordial invitation from Mrs. Dr. Blake 
to dine with her on the morrow, which was gratefully accepted. 

On motion, the two Secretaries were asked to print all the 
proceedings of the meeting, and the letters from absent classmates. 
There was a very decided expression of the determination to meet 
again in five years from that day, and this took form in a vote that 
when we adjourn to-morrow, it shall be to reassemble at old Kenyon 
June 28th, 1887. The Class then left the east wing, formed arm in 
arm, and marched through the Campus. We thus greeted the "dawn 
of the morrow" in the old songs once so dear to us — but now far 
dearer; for they come to us laden with most precious reminiscences 
of our happy college life. 

Wednesday morning found us all in the Church of the Holy 
Spirit, where we joined in a very animated service, which preceded 
the Commencement exercises. Again we walked in the procession 
to Ross Hall, and were honored with seats upon the platform. After 
the exercises were over, we wandered around the old familiar place, 
and finally found ourselves at the residence of Mrs. Dr. Blake, where 
we were received with a royal welcome, and sat down to a table 
spread with a delicious and generous dinner. 

A unanimous vote of thanks to Mrs. Blake, was the last act of 
the feast, after which, we spent the time upon the piazza and lawn, 
where our photographs were duly taken. . Doty had with him a 
good many relics in the shape of photographs of students during 
our college life, papers, bore bills, etc., etc. He brought out good 
old Prof. Trimble's examination paper for the "spring term of 
1861"— "Tunior Class" — "Plato's apology" — Twelve questions 



— 42 — 

were asked. The result of this second examination we shall not 
print ; we leave it to the boys, who were not on the spot, to imagine 
who of. us old fellows went to the head. 

But the end of the re-union had come, and the boys very 
reluctantly adjourned. We, however, were cheered in the hope 
of another meeting on the Hill, June 28th, 1887. 

WM. D'ORVILLE DOTY, 

Secretary. 
A. F. BLAKE, 

Corresponding Secretary. 
WM. M. POSTLETHWArrE, 

President. 

Since we adjourned, the Secretary has sent the following letter 
to every absent member of the Class, with what success, the volume 
now in your hands will exhibit : 

Cincinnati, July 20, 1882. 
My Dear Ci^assmate : 

Eleven members of "'62" met in re-union at Gambler, June 
28th. Their meeting was delightful, and will be long remembered. 
It is proposed to issue a pamphlet containing an account of the 
re-union, the letters received, a poem read on tlje occasion, a photo- 
graph of those present, etc., ete. We desire to make the record as 
full as possible. If you have not done so, will you not send some 
account of yourself, and, if possible, about two dozen unmounted 
photos., to be inserted in the pamphlet ? They niay be sent to Mr. 
U. D. Cole, Rushville, Ind., who will publish the book, and 
to bear all of the expense. I shall be glad to receive any communi- 
cation you may be pleased to send, and to see that you get a copy of 
the book. Fraternally Yours, 

A. F. BLAKE, Sec'y. 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 

029 949 943 1 



